Site Navigation

Site Mobile Navigation

For Russians, Wounds Linger in School Siege

BESLAN, Russia - The ruins of School No.1 have changed little in a year. Blood remains on the walls in handprints and streaks. A blood-darkened shirt lies in the cafeteria, about the size for a 5-year-old.

One wing has been sheared away by tank fire. The gym, its roof burned, is open to the sky. Upstairs, deflated balloons sag where they had been taped to the auditorium ceiling for the first day of school.

According to the Russian government, 331 people were killed here last year from Sept. 1 through Sept. 3, including 186 children. More than 700 were wounded. It was the worst terrorist act in modern Russian history, and a test of the administration of President Vladimir V. Putin, whose government pledged to find out the truth about what occurred.

But a year after terrorists from a Chechen separatist group arrived with their assault rifles and masks, setting a siege that ended in battle and fire, there is scarcely more clarity about what happened than there was when the flames died down.

Three government investigations are being conducted, by federal prosecutors and by the regional and federal parliaments. Shamil Basayev, Russia's most wanted man, has said he planned the attack. Yet fundamental questions -- how many terrorists seized the school, who they were, who commanded the Russian response, when and where powerful weapons that may have killed hostages were used -- remain subjects of dispute.

No one can even say with certainty what caused the standoff's grisly end. On one point alone almost all agree: Russia's counterterrorism response was a deeply flawed effort that squandered individual acts of courage and cost untold lives.

Stanislav Kesayev, who directs the regional parliamentary investigation, describes the events that enveloped School No.1 as a study of how counterterrorism operations should not be done. A central purpose of the federal investigations, he said, has been to protect officials who failed to prevent so much death. His report is expected in September.

"The main conclusion we will make is about the lack of coordination of the power structures and special units that are designed for this purpose," he said.

Most survivors and grieving families interviewed directed their rage at the terrorists who herded families away at gunpoint and surrounded them with bombs. But as they wait for a credible account of the bungled siege and battle, they express disgust at what they call government incompetence and inability to apportion blame for its mistakes.

The anger is widespread enough that the Beslan Mothers Committee, a local support group, has asked President. Putin not to attend memorial events. "It is important in principle to know the truth so that something like this cannot happen again, and so that incompetent, irresponsible, corrupt people -- people without morals -- will be punished," said Susanna Dudiyeva, the group's leader. "That is not what is happening."

A Horrifying Siege

The rough outline is understood. The terrorists appeared minutes after the academic year began on Sept. 1 and surrounded a playground celebration of parents, teachers and students. Those who resisted were killed; about 150 managed to escape. The rest, nearly 1,200 in all, were forced into the gym, which their captors laced with bombs.

Negotiations followed: among other demands, the terrorists sought the withdrawal of Russian troops from Chechnya and meetings with top Russian and regional officials. Two days later, with negotiations stalled, a pair of explosions shook the gym. A battle began, with hostages caught between the sides.

Most victims died in those last hours. But the final chaos was of a type: from the beginning the Russian response was checkered with mistakes.

In the opening hours the officials insisted there were only about 350 hostages, an error that immediately poisoned relations with Beslan's residents, who accused their political leaders of incompetence.

It may have placed hostages in danger, too. Terrorists were listening to the news on radios. Some taunted hostages with the official count. "One of them said, 'Russia says there are only 300 of you here,"' said Kazbek Misikov, who survived the siege with his wife and two sons. "'Maybe we should kill enough of you to get down to that number."'

Throughout those days, a tactical understanding of the crisis seemed to elude the authorities. Beslan filled with troops from the police, the Russian Army, the Interior Ministry and Russia's domestic security service, the F.S.B., which sent elite commandos.

But there was little coordination. Four different headquarters were working at once, Mr. Kesayev said. He added, "To this day we do not know who was in actual command."

The authorities also never set up an effective cordon, a lapse many residents believe allowed the escape of some terrorists, whose existence Russia does not acknowledge. The cordon they did make was within 250 yards of the school -- inside the range of the terrorists' grenade launchers. Throughout the siege grenades landed occasionally near waiting relatives.

Some oversights were astonishing, the families said. On Sept. 3, the commandos left Beslan to rehearse tactics in another village. The ingredients for disaster were in place.

A Day of Chaos

The explosions boomed minutes after 1 p.m. on Sept. 3. Although the blasts marked perhaps the siege's most important moment, instantly turning the standoff into a seemingly spontaneous battle, what caused them remains in dispute.

The prosecutor's office says the first explosion was an accident caused by a bomb falling to the floor. Many survivors agree. Others do not.

The differences have given rise to unlikely theories, including speculation that a sniper shot a terrorist at the bomb trigger. (The gym's plastic windows were opaque. A sniper could not see through them.)

An error has occurred. Please try again later.

You are already subscribed to this email.

This much is clear: one explosion occurred where terrorists had set a large bomb along one of the gym walls. It blew out the wall and lifted the ceiling and roof, and left heaps of broken bodies in an arc.

Outside, the soldiers and the police opened fire. Confusion reigned, said Lt. Col. Elbrus Nogayev, a police supervisor whose wife and daughter died in the school. "I heard a command saying, 'Stop shooting! Stop shooting!' while other soldiers' radios said, 'Attack!"' he said.

Moreover, the F.S.B. commandos needed 20 or 25 minutes to return, Mr. Kesayev said, and went into action in a disorganized fashion. "I watched them running to the school through the gardens, putting on vests as they ran," he said.

More signs of poor planning emerged. Not enough ambulances had been readied, and many injured hostages traveled to hospitals in private cars, without medical help.

Inside the school, terrorists ordered survivors to the cafeteria, where some were forced to stand at windows as human shields. A number were quickly shot by troops outside, said Irina Naldikoyeva, 30, who was there with her two children and a niece, Vika Dzutseva, now 16.

Simultaneously, a fire spread in the gym's ceiling. But firefighters took at least two hours to approach, the families and Mr. Kesayev said. By then the roof had collapsed. In all, 218 of those killed were found with burns, the Mothers Committee says.

It is a lingering source of anger and pain. "I know my wife was injured," said Ruslan Tebiyev, who lost three relatives. "But why did she have to burn?"

The fire's cause is also a point of contention. Several survivors say it was lit by the bombs, which exploded with such heat that people on the opposite side of the gym were burned. Marina Mikhailova, a teacher, said she saw a terrorist spreading an incendiary fluid. But some families have shifted blame to the authorities, a sentiment intensified by the government's false statements.

After months of denials, the prosecutor's office admitted this summer that the Russian forces had fired powerful shoulder-held rockets known as shmels at the school. Some families believe the rockets caused or accelerated the blaze, although this is not clear.

Whatever the rockets' effect, the bereaved mothers say, their presence demonstrated that the government was willing to use indiscriminate force though children were present.

There is similar anger and disbelief over the use of tanks. One witness, Teimuraz Konukov, said that at about 2:30 p.m., he lay behind a tree across the street and watched a Russian tank fire its main barrel into the school's facade. Hostages were still inside at the time.

Prosecutors insist the tank did not fire until evening, after all the hostages had escaped or were dead. Mr. Konukov, whose version aligns with what was witnessed by two journalists from The New York Times, is incredulous. "I was right here," he said, pointing to the spot.

No full explanation has been given for the even more extensive tank shooting later in the day that destroyed one of the school's wings. "These are all points that must be investigated," Ms. Dudiyeva said. "Who brought these heavy weapons? Who gave orders to fire them? Why is this unknown?"

Questions, Questions

Nurpasha Kulayev stands in a cage in the courtroom, rarely raising his eyes. Russia claims he is the sole surviving terrorist from the siege; his trial had been expected to bring a deeper understanding of those days. Instead it has become a showcase of contempt for the government.

Families contest even the authorities' most basic claims. The prosecutors, for example, say 32 terrorists seized the school -- 30 men with automatic rifles and 2 women wearing suicide bombs. Thirty-one of them died, according to this account. (They are not counted among the 331 victims.)

But many survivors and participants insist they saw at least four other men who were captured and have not been seen again, and a third woman. Their faith in the official version has been further undermined because Russia has not publicly identified all the terrorists it says were killed.

The trial's conduct has also perplexed the families. The officers who arrested Mr. Kulayev have not testified, but people who knew little of him are regularly on the stand. At a recent hearing the slate of witnesses so frustrated one woman that she stood and loudly scolded the judge.

The trial is only one example of what families here regard as official incompetence and callousness.

A crime-scene video taken the morning after the battle, leaked to the Mothers Committee and reviewed by The New York Times shows investigators shoveling ashes among the dead. At one point two men discover a dead girl, and unceremoniously toss her blackened body into a bag.

Families say evidence was lost or mishandled in this cursory sweep -- a conviction that deepened in February when residents found charred items from the school in a local dump. In the mess were human remains: tangles of hair and dried skin.

They also wonder why the school was secured for less than 36 hours after the battle -- scant time for forensics work. Instead of serving as a resource for investigators, Mr. Kesayev said, the bloody ruins were converted "to a place for pilgrimages and excursions."

The prosecutors have responded by declaring his commission illegal -- a declaration of no legal standing, and one that Mr. Kesayev said fits a pattern. "Every agency wants to be first in line for the medals," he said, "and last in line to take responsibility for the failures."

We are continually improving the quality of our text archives. Please send feedback, error reports,
and suggestions to archive_feedback@nytimes.com.

A version of this article appears in print on August 26, 2005, on Page A00001 of the National edition with the headline: For Russians, Wounds Linger In School Siege. Order Reprints|Today's Paper|Subscribe